Prisoner of War
by Kiwiambrosia
Summary: The Dark Lord won, the Light fell. But there are those who still resist. Lord Voldemort is well on his way to controlling most of Europe. The time to act is soon upon those who would fight for their rights, their freedoms, their lives. Warnings: Graphic Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Gore, more to come probably...
1. The Battle of Hogwarts

Author Note: Hello Wizarding World! This is my very first story ever posted, ever! It's been brewing for a while, and I finally was able to get it down. I hope it's adequate. Let me know what you think :D

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had seen much better days. After the initial attack on the school, is was in shambles. Smoke was rising into the sky, grey on black. Stone walls had gaping holes in them, from a Giants club swing, or a stray spell. There were small fires rampant all over. Most of the younger years had been quickly evacuated through the tunnels into Hogsmeade the second they had regained control of the school. Many more of the older students had stayed to fight. From there, no one who still stood at the school knew where the Fourth year and under went after that.

The great hall was bustling, but not in the way one would normally expect from the grand wizarding school. The House tables had been pushed aside to the walls, the injured standing or sitting in groups, trying to keep each other calm while they waited to be seen to. The smell of burnt flesh and the coppery tang of blood were overpowering. Madam Pomfrey and a few others, some students, some from the dwindling Order, were flitting about their charges. The small group was trying, generally failing, to keep the injured, from mangling themselves. Seizures, one of the main repercussions of multiple curses their opponents were using. As well as doing their best to keep the dying, comfortable. The entire hall, an oppressive feeling hovered around them. The conditions they had found themselves in, was not ideal for any sort of recovery. Hushed voices sounded from everywhere, many of them were crying, but all muttering the same name.

"Harry Potter"

It had just been revealed that their Saviour, had bowed to the command of Lord Voldemort, and went alone into the Forbidden Forest. To save them. They had all heard the voice in their heads earlier, giving the instructions. They were instructed to collect their dead, and give Harry Potter over to him. Harry had come out of Dumbledores office, face dark. Posture closed off, brooding, after viewing the memories Snape given him. He quickly explained things to his best friends. Told them what Snape had been doing this entire time, and learned the truth about himself, and the evil inside him. Then, wand in hand, the Boy Who Lived took off running. Yelling over his shoulder for them to kill the snake, that he'd see them later. Mind set to confront their childhood horror.

Hermione and Ron had accomplished a different task, but the result was still the same. They were another Horcrux down. The Diadem of Ravenclaw having burned away to nothing. Yet here they were, after all their searching, in the Great Hall with the others. Tending to their wounded, and seeing to their dead. They had been given the time. Oh, so graciously, after the first assault on the castle. Told that the Dark Lord did not wish to spill any more magical blood, they were a dying race. Now, they had learned Harry was not only missing, but had walked to his death.

At first, there was hope, he had said he was going to be right back, and then, no one could find him. Ron and Hermione had searched everywhere. Ron having looked the Marauders Map over at least twenty times, searching for his name. Hermione having figured out where the Diadem with the help of Luna Lovegood. Finding Crabbe and Goyle juniors in there, hiding with Draco Malfoy. One of the idiots had cast Fiendfire, and in the end, only got them both killed, and destroyed the room. But thankfully, destroyed the Horcrux at the same time. Hermione and Ron having saved Draco from certain death. Now they were seriously worried. Harry had just run off, leaving with an order, and nothing more. But, they had faith in their friend, they were waiting. So far, there was no news that he was dead, that he was captured, that he was anywhere. Lord Voldemort was not crowing his victory over the Boy-Who-Lived.

Things were quiet and somber as people were tended too, and a few were crying. Dead students and Professors, Order members, lay still on the floor. Those tending other, working their way around them, trying not to think about those they had lost. The Weasley family had lost Percy. Molly Weasley was inconsolable, face hidden in her husband's chest, his arms holding her tightly. The Weasley children all gathered around their parents, and the corpse of their fallen brother. Every once in a while someone would cast a tempus charm, and see how long they had before their hour was up.

But then, the voice came. The pain that had cut through their consciousness' so many times that day. Too many times, enough for a lifetime, one would say. It was like jagged glass and fire, screaming and yet unbearably quiet in their minds. Hissing, rasping, gleefully, they heard their greatest fear confirmed.

_He is dead. Harry Potter, is dead!_

Laughter had followed, and it tore at them deeply, ripping, splitting their thoughts. Leaving many of the occupants of the Great Hall-turned-Hospital, clutching their heads in immense pain. The instant it abided, every able-bodied person had scrambled out of the Great Hall, and through the large front doors, out into the main courtyard. Pouring out of the doors, all of them freezing in their steps at what they saw. None of them had been prepared for the figure outside their doors.

Waiting for them there, standing on the cold flagstone, amidst the rubble and destruction that was the main courtyard, was The Dark Lord. Tall, imposing, covered in black robes that seemed to flow around him, living, moving of their own power, he was bare foot. A manic grin spread across his features as he noticed them. Mouth open, revealing sharp animalistic teeth. His inhuman red eyes bored into them from dark sunken sockets. Pale skin, stretched across a bald skull. White skeletal-like hands grasping his wand, almost reverently, petting it.

Behind him, his entire army. A sea of black cloaks, and silver masks. Death Eaters filled the large area, and went on as far as they could see. They were horribly out numbered. There were not many of them left, but still, their hope endured. That is, until Voldemort stepped aside, with a sweep of his hand, revealed the Death Eaters leading the half-giant Hagrid through their ranks. Hagrid lurched forwards awkwardly. His head was down, his immense hair, filled with dirt and twigs, covered most of him. He was tightly clutching something to him. Ropes extended from three directions, all based around his thick neck. A trio of Death Eaters held him. One in front, two behind. Jerking him along like a tethered beast. Towards the remains of the Order of the Phoenix, and the brave students who had stayed to fight.

Someone screamed. It rang out and echoed in the silence they all found themselves stuck in.

Ginny Weasley however, was being held back by her father, tears streaming down her face. She was trying to get to Hagrid.

"No! No! He can't! He's lying!" She cried. Others had then joined her cry, in chorus. Earning them, a swift, dark look from the rejoicing leader of the Death Eaters.

"Silence!" His wand flippantly aimed a spell at Ginny.

Ginny, still crying, found she no longer could make a sound. Mute, grasping her throat, she cried harder. Everyone else had suddenly stopped. Whispering as quiet as they could to themselves and their neighbors. A beaten posture and fearful looks on all their faces, but, every hand able, gripped a wand, ready.

The Dark Lord, it seemed, was far from done gloating.

"Foolish girl! You weep for this child! This boy, barely old enough to call himself Wizard." He sneered at the crowd gathered before him. "Hardly a worthy opponent, I regret letting him live this long." He stroked the Elder wand absently. "Though, I must admit, I had to kill him twice!" His grin split his face in two. Eyes wide and if possible, crazier looking. Nagini was hissing contentedly. Coiling around herself, at the feet of her master. "Somehow, the boy survived my curse again!" Normally, something like that would have set off the neurotic Dark Lord, sending him into a demented frenzy of revenge and pride. But this time, he was laughing and speaking to them, like he was letting them in on a grand joke.

"Came before me, like the little sacrificial lamb he is - was." He chuckled as he corrected himself. "A single curse, didn't even try to defend himself!" He bragged. "Begged me to spare you all. Pathetic." As he was explaining his triumph, he was walking around, pacing back and forth, robes swirling, seemingly in and out of existence. Like ethereal smoke it cloaked him, only adding to his already intimidating figure. "But then! Then! The little cretin, jumps up, as if he was asleep! I had only just confirmed his death!" The look in his eyes as he swept them across the throng, spoke volumes. Death and blood and pain, for them all. But his tone of voice, was if he was speaking of a cherished memory to a good friend.

"This time, he tried to fight. And valiantly did your Chosen One fight, and gloriously, did he die!" He laughed, and the army of silver masks behind him joined him in laughter. The cackle of Bellatrix LeStrange could be heard over them all. "Behold, your Saviour!" He gestured then to Hagrid with his wand, a purple jet of light hitting him in the legs. The enormous man stumbled, fell to his knees and sobbing, dropped what he was carrying. A broken and bloody body fell to the ground. A dull thud, that was barely audible, but heard by all.

The usual round-framed glasses were missing. Robes and clothes torn, hanging like scraps off his body. His body, ripped to shreds. Dark hair matted with blood, stuck to the side of his face, revealing the lightning bolt scar, stark red against pale skin. Green eyes open, staring up into the night sky, un-seeing. The Boy Who Lived, was truly dead. Dumbledore's great plan, all his plotting and secrets, everything, it had failed. It had worked, the resurrection stone, brought him back. But ultimately, made no difference. Gasps and cries of defiance rushed through them, in shock, none truly realizing yet, that this was reality.

"Now, is the time to declare yourselves."

Murmurs followed the gasps and cries. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy beckoned to their son from their spot in the first row of Death Eaters behind their Lord. Though hardly immaculate looking, the couple still possessed an air of superiority around them.

Lucius nodded his head stiffly, catching his sons eye. Narcissa held her hand out, speaking softly, her voice is quiet, but absolute.

"Come, Draco." Her son looked from father to mother, and Draco Malfoy, who had earlier been saved from certain death by Hermione and Ron, started to cross the vast open space between the two factions. Moving, he refused to meet the malevolent gazes of his classmates. He knew where he belonged. The side his family hailed from, the side it seemed had won the day. He wasn't going to die today, His sense of self-preservation was much stronger than his will to do the right thing. Which in itself, was still in it's infancy.

Ron hissed at him loudly as he passed, "We should have left you to burn! You fucking prick!" The glare Hermione was giving him could have petrified. Draco avoided it completely and kept his steady stride. He was the only one who had moved from his spot and towards the Dark Lord. Slowly, feeling all of the eyes on his back, he went and joined his family. His Mother and Father, who were standing proudly, admiring the decimated school, and at the dirty faces of Blood Traitors. His deranged Aunt, who was dancing about in place. An insane grin plastered to her once beautiful face. His parents looked so pleased at what they had helped accomplish. Now things were going to be run properly. Even their smug faces spoke of the trouble the rest of them were in. Though, events would have been much different for the family, had Harry Potter survived. Draco then told his Lord, about all the Slytherin students that had been locked in the dungeons of the castle by McGonagall as soon as Potter had shown his face, and regained control.

The Dark Lord congratulated him on his service to his Lord, gave the boy a very awkward hug, to which Bellatrix made a small snarling noise, that was overall ignored. He stood before his army, arms spread wide, as if in welcoming. His piercing gaze swept over the remains of the Light.

"Come now! Surely you don't all want to just stand there and die?!" Face twisted in smirk, like he knew no one else would join him.

Just then, another student stepped forwards. Stunned the other students watched as Neville Longbottom hobbled towards the enemy. The mass of black and silver behind Voldemort jeered, and laughed loudly, the Dark Lord himself eyed the newcomer with amusement. Voldemort declaring he would happily find a place in his ranks for the Pure-blooded Neville. The beaten boy limped closer, the Sorting Hat clenched in his hands. Somewhere, earlier his wand had been broken. There was a large gash in the side of his face, amid smaller cuts, hair unruly and sticking up all over the place. Sweat and blood running down his temple and cheek into the beginnings of stubble. His left pant leg was blooming slowly with blood. Standing tall, his voice clearer, and stronger than it ever was before, Neville spoke.

"I'd like to say something."

* * *

><p>The battle that had ensued, was bloody, and all together, short. All around students fell to dark curses, the court yard was filled with the sounds of war. Things had been looking up, with the sword of Gryffindor, Neville had pulled from the Sorting Hat, he sliced Nagini's head clean off. Decimating the final Horcrux. With Harry dead twice over, the Horcrux that was inside him had been destroyed gone as well. Leaving Voldemort a very mortal man. This Hermione knew. It gave them a chance, albeit a very miniscule chance, anything was better than nothing. But the power the Dark Lord possessed, none of them had even seen the tip. In a great explosion of accidental magic, the product of Voldemorts rage at seeing his beloved snakes demise, decimated many of the fighters left.<p>

In front of her very eyes she watched as Ron Weasley, who was so far, the love of her life, explode into nothing but a spray of blood. Time had stopped for her as she watched. His expression was both horror and shock. Utter pain followed quickly after. Then his chest seemed to collapse into itself, his limbs twisting in ways that they were not meant to twist. He opened he mouth to scream, and then he was gone. Others followed in front of her. Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professor Slughorn, to name a few, and many students she had studied with not so long ago. All gone, in seconds. Only pools of blood and gore remained. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, she was frozen in place only feet away.

Her mind became a blank nothingness. No thought, no feeling, her senses were finding nothing for her, no anything. It all seemed to take eons in her mind, but in mere moments the Lion in her came out. _Protect!_ It cried. She was rapidly being surrounded by three of the higher ranking Death Eaters. She decided in that instance of thought and made her decision. To use what she had only previously studied in theory. Books she had stolen, from the large stash Molly Weasley was getting rid of. She had nicked them years ago while they cleaned out the House of Black. They say the descent into darkness is like gravity. All you need is a little push.

Acting quickly, pulling from her memory, she started shooting off spells in her attackers direction. She was using the wand she had stolen from Bellatrix LeStrange back at Malfoy Manor. Having won over the allegiance of the wand in the last few days. It was much more suitable to the darker side of magic, and her current desperation to survive. Her old wand, had gone with Harry into the Forbidden Forest. It was probably still there amidst the underbrush. The Death Eaters that had been advancing wore surprised expressions, they obviously were not expecting what hit them. If anything, they weren't anticipating this much of a fight.

A blast of bright fluorescent yellow hit Goyle Sr. in the face. His skin started to boil off in thick glops. He had dropped his wand and was clawing at what remained of his eyes, screaming. An unknown man had a dark muted turquoise curse, hit him in the center of the chest. He watched as all his limbs suddenly fell off his torso, bloody spurts coming in great gushes from the wounds. He died quickly. The third, Rosier watched his brothers in arms fall to her spells. His eyes not on the young witch. He had faltered to raise a shield spell. Though the Wizard, was not counting on a physical attack. She began running the moment the second spell left her wand-tip, she had tackled him to the ground. There she began to pummel his face with her small fists, mouth twisted in a vicious snarl. It seemed like some sort of bloodlust had overtaken her. Reaching to her right she grabbed a sharp stone from the shrapnel and transfigured it into a knife. She slit his throat as quickly as she did.

She stood quickly and then looked at the horrors around her, as if coming out of a daze. The carnage was everywhere. Blood, bodies. From both sides. But it was over, they were obviously losing, and quickly. The Light had fallen...

Eyes wide, shock having stolen her voice. But her brain ever working, turning, planning. Here was the famous Hermione Granger. Battered, bruised, chest heaving in physical exertion, a fierce determination in her eyes. Here, was the pressure she worked well in. Life or Death, them or us. Only mere moments to make the choice. She surveyed the smoking battlefield, that had once been a beautiful place, she had once liked to read on that bench just over there. It used to be a nice spot to relax, away from the rest of the students, now there was a dead body slumped in it. She caught sight of the Weasley Twins, holding their own, a few other of her classmates were scatted across the courtyard, not many had escaped the blast. So few of them remained.

_Save him!_ The voice suddenly cried again within her. Instantly, her hands were moving like muscle memory. Shoving her hand into the enchanted bag she had stuck to her person with a heavy duty charm, she pulled out Harry's invisibility cloak. Hermione was already running, mind whirring on exit strategies. It seems that the rest of her side had the same idea. The call came loud, male, magically amplified.

"Retreat! Order of the Phoenix, Retreat!"

She had grabbed the closest person to her, who oddly enough happened to be Neville, draped the cloak over them both, he didn't question a thing, and together they ran. The ground shook from the force of explosions, and stomping Giants. The dead and dying lay scattered on the ground. She nearly tripped over the body of Padma Patil. Her first idea was to use the vanishing cabinet, and then remembered the Room of Requirement had been destroyed by Fiendfire. Next best option then, she decided, turning quickly and running up two flight of stairs, maneuvering herself and Neville (who at this point questioned nothing, and was just running for his life) she ran towards the nearest broom closet with the hope, beyond hope, praying, 'please, just let this work', that there was at least one broom in there. Trying hard not to spare a thought for all the others, they had to leave. Now. Ignoring the ringing in her ears. She knew exactly where her path led if she was caught. Hermione Granger, the famed Mudblood, best friend of Harry Potter. She sobbed through her gasping as she ran down the corridor. The only remaining member of the Golden Trio. She could mourn later.

With pleas to whoever was listening, she opened the closet they had skidded to a stop in front of. Seeing a single Cleansweep 2000, she nearly cheered her delight. But the grin on her face was enough. She hurriedly took the Sword of Gryffindor from Neville, and stashed it quickly in the bag charmed to the left hip of her jeans. Snatching the broomstick out of the cupboard, holding it close to her, she turned to Neville. Quickly explained her plan to jump out a window, and fly away. He looked as terrified as she felt. She probably looked that way too. But nonetheless, they started running towards the nearest window. The sounds of Death Eaters were closing in on them. Even though they couldn't be seen, their footsteps as they ran were still heard. Something within her commanding, insisting she protect the boy beside her. _Get him away! _They weaved in and out of stone debris. Scrambling through a secret passage that was familiar to them both, they made it up onto the fourth floor.

Making it to a window that was large enough, she gazed out into the black sky somehow there were no stars tonight. Looking at the ground below, there was a split second of fear. But she had already straddled the broom, feeling Neville seated behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, though the invisibility cloak covering them both, the half visible broom and their shins and feet, was a perfect give-away. She saw Death Eaters just at the end of the hall. They were running towards them, almost within spell range. With the broom solid beneath her, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, she mumbled a small prayer to her Muggle God, and they flung themselves out of the window.

They started to plummet quickly. The cold air rushed passed them, making it hard to breathe. With barely enough time to scream or think, the broom jumped to life under them. Neville was grasping the cloak around them, as they sped off higher into the night. Zooming back and forth, dodging spells that were coming from the window they had just leapt from. The burning castle, its tall towers, crumbling in on themselves. One of them, had been the home of the two Gryffindors for the last seven years. They kept their pace, as fast as the broom would take them, and they left a demolishing Hogwarts, behind them.

* * *

><p><em>Earlier that night<em>

Severus Snape lay dying. Crumpled in a black heap beneath a broken window. He was in the boat house. The sounds of the lake buzzing in his ears. The snake had taken a large chunk out of his neck, his robes were open at the top, his wound oozing a clear liquid and blood. He had multiple bites on his face as well. He was deathly pale. A more stark contrast to the dark man than usual. But there was a small smile on that face. The Potter brat had just left, taking with him Snapes memories and the information he needed to win this war. This was obviously, not part of the original plan, he surmised, but he _had_ planned for this likely scenario. Somehow with what little strength he had left, he had pulled a small glass flask from a pocket in his pants. Thumbing off the stopper, his hand trembling, raised the flask to his mouth and downed the anti-venom in one quick gulp. His other hand was holding his balled up sleeve over the wound in his neck. He had prepared for this outcome, shortly after the attack on Arthur Weasley. Luckily, he was able to get a sample of her venom after the initial attack. The Healers on staff that night, were old students of his. They were easily cowed into submission, and had their memories of the encounter taken for their efforts. Severus Snape was nothing, if not thorough. Paranoid at the very least.

With the venom slowly breaking down in his blood, he felt the tiniest bit stronger, and managed to find a blood replenishing potion in his robes. Why that stupid Granger girl hadn't thought to look through his robes, while in her hysterics was beyond him. He thought she reacted well under pressure, after all these years of keeping the Moron Who Lived alive. He quickly looked at his surroundings, mind whirring over what he could use. He doubted he had the strength for magic right now. What he came up with was so simple. He was in a boat house after all, and these specific boats, were enchanted to power themselves, after an activation. In this case, thankfully, it was a small string of words.

With all the commotion at the castle, no one would notice his escape across the lake. He hoped. But now, was the time for big risks and hope it seemed. Managing to crawl into the nearest shallow boat, he set off the boats enchantment and settled back on the wood stiffly with a groan, as the craft jostled forwards, and then started smoothly out across the black lake towards Hogsmeade. His plan was to hide in the train station, possibly catch one of the residents evacuating, and make it out with them.

His thoughts were swirling and it seemed he had passed out again, the boat hit the dock with a sharp rap and startled him awake. Scrambling slowly over the side and rolling onto the dock, he pulled himself up, and sluggishly made his way into the small wizarding village. He was getting colder by the second. The air near the lake, definitely not helping matters. Houses shut, windows boarded up. Not a single light anywhere. It was dead here. When he got to the station it was empty as well. Completely deserted. Anyone that had been evacuating, was already long gone. All of the Death Eaters and Snatchers who had been hanging out here, were with the rest of the Dark Lords army up at the castle, probably fighting, hopefully dying gruesomely. He sneered at the night before him. It came out as more of a grimace. He held no love for any of those imbeciles. Following some maniac bent on eternal life and absolute power. He did like to live though. His entire life, if not right now, was a testament to such.

He stumbled his way through the barren depot, quiet groans and small gasps of pain flew freely from his mouth. Dark brows knit together in pain. Knowing his legs wouldn't carry him much farther. He was just looking for a safe place to hide out for now, and think up a new plan. Recovery his strength and move on. After all, he made it this far, what seemed like forever ago, he thought he was actually going to die in that dingy, god-forsaken boat house, over a bloody _wand_ of all things!

Hand pressing against a wall for support, he slowly made it into the back room for the small staff of the train station, and there, just on the inside of the door he fell. His feet tripped over themselves, reaching hands finding nothing to hold onto. He hit the ground with a dull sound. He couldn't find any more reserves of strength to keep himself moving, his vision was swimming, and black spots where forming in his line of view. His last clear thought was the hope that Potter succeeded in finally killing the darkest Wizard of their age. That Lord Voldemort was defeated. He was near asking the Gods for help. But then, without his meaning to, and definitely without his permission he succumbed to his wounds, and passed out on the cold floor of the deserted train station.

It was probably a good thing too, because when you prayed in times like that, you didn't know who was going to answer.


	2. Hidden

AN: Here's the first chapter! Sorry that it took a bit, life tends to get in the way. Many thanks (and brownies) to the fantabulous Glittergrrrl05! Who has graciously offered to Beta for me. Let me know what you think! :D

* * *

><p>It had been a week.<p>

She could still smell them burning, saw them mangled on the ground every time sleep claimed her. She didn't sleep much anymore.

Hermione sat huddled, shivering slightly with a ratty, worn-looking blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Brown bushy curls tied tightly in a ponytail at the back of her head. Face paler than normal, dark bags under tired eyes. Sighing, she poked at the embers of a small fire with a stick. The tiny flames made the shadows of herself and her friend dance on the walls and sloped rock ceiling above them. Shuffling around quietly, she moved away trying not to make too much noise. Neville was still out cold.

She and Neville were hiding out in a dank, dark little cave in the wilderness. They had no idea where. Had been here for about two days now. Whether they were even still in Scotland, she didn't know. Or care, really. They were alive and that was all that mattered right then. Before they had found their little hide-out, they had just kept flying.

Hours upon hours of the wind in her face, eyes streaming tears from the constant gusts. At the mercy of the weather. Not entirely sure which direction she was going. They had kept going, though, as the sun came up and went down again. A full day. All the while, hoping she wouldn't fall off to her death. Her hands had gripped the handle, white-knuckling it. Wouldn't that be _hilarious_: after going through all the hell and blood, to meet her end escaping on a broom and falling to her death.

Hermione and Neville had taken it in shifts those first few days, staying in the air. When one got too tired to fly they landed quickly and traded places, letting the other sleep as best they could with a sticking charm glueing them to the back of the flyer. It had worked until the need for food had grounded them. But even though they had made it out of the castle, she was sure the Death Eaters had made note of their direction and were actively trying to find them. Hermione knew they had to keep moving, and soon.

The interior of the cave was mostly barren, just a natural curve of stone save for its occupants, two bed rolls, some blankets, and the broom that assured their get away. Hermione, the ever thoughtful one, still had much of what she had brought with her initially while on the run with Harry and Ron, all in that tiny little beaded bag. It was currently still stuck to the left hip of her jeans. The rain that was pounding outside the small opening to their cave had been coming down for hours. It had started earlier in the afternoon and they were well into night now. Their things were far enough back that there was little fear of the water reaching them but the dampness it produced just served to make her colder.

She made her way slowly, hand against the stone wall, closer to the mouth of their hideout. Pulling the drape of the Invisibility Cloak around her feet, hiding them from sight, she sat down just before the entrance. The tall trees surrounding their camp creaked softly. The sound of rain hitting leaves filled the air. Other than their small fire, there was no light to speak of as far as she could see. Just trees. There was no moon tonight, though rain clouds would have hidden it if there was. Settling against the wall of rock, a muffled groan made its way out of her mouth as she shifted. She was still entirely too sore to to doing much of anything, but that hardly mattered. Thankfully between the two of them, no bones had been broken, but spell damage, the nightmares, and running for your life made it hard to sleep. It was her turn to keep watch. Sure, they could have used perimeter charms to warn them of impending company, but she had argued a rather fine case for using magic as sparingly as possible. Magical signatures, after all, could be tracked. They needed to vanish, so emergency-only magic it was.

Generally trying to stay away from any city, Muggle or magical, the two Gryffindors kept to the trees and the wilds and lived off what they could kill and gather. Aquamenti charms for water. Hermione had never thanked her Mum more for tossing her in a Girl Scout troop as a kid than she had the last year. Before their cave, they had decided to try finding shelter in a Muggle town and hid in an abandoned house. It was the first and last time they had chanced that. They had been seen somehow by someone who knew their faces and had to make a break for it while waiting in line at a Muggle convenience store. That they were _stealing_ the food and other items in the plastic basket was the least of their worries. Wizarding Britain was quickly falling to the Dark Lord, and his eyes were everywhere. It looked like Muggle Britain wouldn't be far behind.

Neville had learned quickly, later on that day after they managed to get away, the reason no one spoke Voldemort's name. They had been quickly planning their next move, finding their way out of the town, when he said the name. It triggered some sort of taboo tracking spell and the Snatchers had found them within seconds. The two of them had been hurrying down the sidewalk of what appeared to be the small towns' Downtown area. So many Muggles had died...

It took a few minutes of staring into the darkness in front of her before she realized the rain had stopped. She cast a glance back at the sleeping form of Neville. He was at the very back of the cave with their things. A large boulder blocked the view into the back of the cave. It really was _the_ perfect cave to hide in. His chest rose and falling evenly, mousy brown hair falling over closed eyes. She stood gingerly and made her way out of the cave, deciding to have a look around. See how things were. When she got there, taking a deep breath she exhaled fondly. A miniscule smile gracing her features. She had always loved the smell after the rain. It was renewing, like everything had been washed away. Within the next moment she noticed she heard nothing she was expecting to hear. No birds, no insects. No small animals coming out from their hiding spots. It had just stopped raining in the woods at night. There should be noises all over. It was quiet.

Her eyes widened a fraction. _Shit. _Realizing what was wrong with the scene in front of her, she spun quickly and hurried back into the cave, mind whirling. _Bad. Bad, this is bad. _Yanking the cloak off she nearly threw herself on top of Neville, shaking him violently to wake him up.

"Get up, we have to go. _Now,_" she hissed at him. She was still shaking him even has his eyes slowly opened and focused on her face. "Come on, I think we've been found." Her voice was hushed, but forceful. His eyes had shot open at her reveal. Her movements were fast paced as she was trying to fold blankets quickly as possible. Neville stood, helping to break up their tiny camp. Hermione tossed Neville the broom and threw dirt on the fire, plunging them into darkness. The faint sound of their breathing and blankets being shoved into a bag were all that could give them away now. Hermione grabbed the Invisibility cloak from where she had discarded it and covered them both.

"Should we try to get out of here?" Neville asked, his mouth extremely close to her ear. All she did was nod in response. He felt the cloak shift slightly as her head moved. Wands out, they slowly made their way to the mouth of the little cave, seeing nothing but dripping trees and damp grass. It smelt fresh and pure. Gauging their best options and taking the risk they inched out, careful to watch their footing lest they slip on the damp ground. Try as they might, both were leaving footprints behind, blatant evidence of where they were standing, cloak or not. Eyes wary and looking at everything they crept away from the cave and into the dense forest beyond. Still nothing. No sounds, barely the leaves rustled in the treetops overhead. Eerie. Yet, that sense of being watched, the small hairs standing on the back of their necks, the knowledge that unseen eyes were upon them. Neither had it.

Neville's brows were knit together. He was on edge now, waking up to a sudden adrenaline rush. Standing huddled close with Hermione as they moved along was something he had become accustomed too over the last week. He had no idea why she was so set on keeping him safe. He had so far assumed that he was the closest person to her when the retreat was called. They hadn't really had time to discuss anything. Between healing wounds, and running for their lives, there wasn't much time for catching up.

They made it to the small clearing they had originally landed in. It was big enough for them to take off amidst the both slid onto the broom as quickly as they could, making ready to take off, Neville behind her holding the cloak around them both. It almost looked practiced. The fact was, this was not the first time. The second she was going to take off seemed to be exactly what they were waiting for, and three spells shot towards them from different directions. One of them caught Hermione in the leg and it crumpled, not longer able to hold her weight. She let out a surprised gasp as they both toppled to the ground, Neville having taken one of the spells in the shoulder. He had been stunned. It felt like her leg was on fire, or was it being bitten by millions of tiny things; she couldn't decide which. Either way it was bugging the shit out of her and extremely itchy. Wand clenched in hand, she leapt from the small cover the cloak gave her, leaving the stunned Neville hidden beneath with the broom. She was casting in the general direction of their attackers. Hearing a loud yelp, she knew she had got one at least. _Idiot, staying where you were after you fired._ Her heart beat loudly in her chest. Eyes scanning the treeline around them, she stayed near Neville who was on the dirt ground just to her left.

When no new attacks were forthcoming, Hermione aimed a quick _Ennervate_ at her unconscious friend. Neville's eyes fluttered open and he groaned as he bolted up to see his friend more or less circling him, eyes trained on the tree line, wand ready. He reached a hand to find his on the ground beside him. The wand he was using wasn't his; his had been lost at the battle. Well, not his, it had been his father's wand. Neville had agonized for hours in his mind about how much his Grandmother was going to kill him for it. Screw the Dark Lord, he was scared of Augusta Longbottom. But now was not the time, he had to quickly remind himself as beside him, Hermione began shooting off more spells. With the wand that was not his, he stood and began to help the girl beside him.

It was a fair fight now. Two of each. The Snatchers were obviously firing off stunners and other spells to subdue. Hermione took note. _So, he wants us alive…_ While they were out in the open of a clearing, the men trying to get to them were somewhere in the trees. _One down, two to go_. Hermione and Neville were holding their ground. Both knowing that letting the Snatchers live, and just trying to escape, would bring down more on their heads. Their location - wherever the hell that was - would be compromised more than it already was. They had to get rid of these two men. It wasn't something Neville was entirely sure he was capable of, but the unspoken agreement between them was clear: these men could _not_ get away, and thus from defensive to offensive fighting they turned.

Neville took a step forwards and feigned being injured. He collapsed to the ground, hoping this would give the impression Hermione was on her own in the battle and that it would lead the idiot Snatchers right to them, out from their hiding spots. So far none of Hermione's spells were hitting flesh targets. The trees and bushes were taking the brunt, as their assailants had learned from their comrade's mistake and moved as soon as they had a spell off. She stopped instantly when Neville went down and knelt beside him to tend his 'injury', playing along with the act he had started. As they both fussed over his leg, he had a tight grip on his wand, and even though their eyes were on his imaginary wound, ears were listening for anything, waiting for any noise to indicate where the enemy was.

After what seemed like half an hour but was probably only minutes, the two Snatchers came running at them from opposite directions. They would have to act fast to gain this victory. The way they were huddled, both of their backs were to an oncoming Snatcher. It came at a price, albeit a small one in the grand scheme, a bigger deal at the moment. Shouting the first thing that came to his mind - _Diffindo! _- Neville watched as the man behind Hermione made a gasping noise like he was trying to take in air. He had stopped running and was holding his throat, his eyes bloodshot and buggy wide. Time seemed to stop for Neville as he focused, horrified, on the fate he had caused this man. Then time caught up, and then the man's head popped off like a dandelion.

It seemed to immediately shock their other attacker, who had full view of the beheading. Having not really paid attention to where he was running, he tripped over a root that was sticking out of the ground and fell forward, arms flailing, and face planted into the mud. Instead of the loud squelching sound they had both expected, the unmistakable crack of a skull hitting rock reached their ears. He didn't get back up.

Hermione helped Neville up at this point and now they both stood blinking, their mouths open in stunned silence. Seconds later Neville broke it.

"Mione, did... did that just happen?" He ran his hand over his face. Eyes disbelieving, like he couldn't fathom in the slightest what had just occurred. His wand hung loosely in his hand at his side.

"I- I…" She exhaled quickly. "I don't think I would believe it otherwise Neville." She replied. Shock had been replaced with utter confusion, and then curiosity quickly followed. Flicking her wand at the muddy body, she flipped him over. The face that was revealed was well beyond broken, smashed inwards, unrecognizable. The Snatcher was obviously very dead, although Neville still performed some sort of health assessment spell after he was overturned. It was literally just this man's luck.

She started shaking her head at Neville, who went to search their bodies for anything useful. "Unless, you know a spell to reveal portkeys, we can't take the chance. That was pure luck. Leave them be; we have to go." Annoyed at not knowing such a spell herself, she was already on the broom and holding the cloak out to him.

"I'm taking their wands at least. Never know, right?" He lifted one shoulder up in a half shrug. He had already grabbed one. Quickly walking the 2 feet, he picked up the other. The one in the forest was very dead and farther off than was comfortable. More would be on them soon. He mounted the old school broom behind her, pulled the cloak over them, and they took off, once again invisible in the night sky.

* * *

><p>Four days later found them hiding in an abandoned tree house. It was well built and mostly weather proof. Two windows had boards that acted as shutters, and the only way in or out was a rope ladder in a hole in the floor. They were still avoiding the use of magic. Neville had asked her many times just <em>how<em> did Muggles do this all the time. Having grown up pureblood this was an entirely new experience for him, on the run or not. The initial search of their new hideaway had turned up a few boxes of matches, three candles, and a compass - something for which Hermione was very grateful. The map they had stolen from the convenience store earlier was finally going to come in handy. She unfolded it immediately and began trying to figure out where they were.

They were in a forest near some tiny Muggle town called Killin, still in northern Scotland after all. If they kept to their tree house and stole food with the cloak as needed, they should be alright for a time. Both were willing to keep going, flying, running; the where _to_ was still a firm _away_ in their minds. But they had no real destination other than survival, which was how they arrived at the agreement to stay for a while, and why they had unpacked slightly in the wooden fort.

Hermione was making her way up the ratty old rope ladder. It looked on the verge of unraveling. As she pulled herself up through the opening, Neville grabbed her arm and helped her the rest of the way. Straightening up and brushing herself off, she smiled - not like she used to, but a sort of half smile as though someone had told a barely passable joke. With the Invisibility Cloak covering her from the shoulders down she was naught but a floating head. "Dinner's ready." She handed over a reusable grocery bag in an obviously good mood and said offhandedly, "If only Harry had some creativity, he could have done great things with this." She pulled the Invisibility Cloak off her and tossed it, leaving it where it landed in a pool of cloth on her bedroll.

He began rummaging through the bag of food and other things. "Oh you wonderful woman, you; you got toilet paper! And those candy worm things!" He exclaimed happily. She laughed quietly, shaking her head. Out of all her friends, Neville was the one who had always shown his appreciation for her.

"Pass me that can of stew and I'll get dinner going," Hermione asked with outstretched hand, having already pulled forward their small flame-fueled camp stove. Busy opening the can with a hand-held opener, she didn't notice the far-away look in Neville's eye.

He spoke quietly as though deep in thought. "What are we going to do…. It's been weeks and we haven't had word from anyone except the stinking Death Eaters and Snatchers coming for us," he lamented, sitting down roughly opposite Hermione. He looked at her. "Like, what about St. Mungos…. my parents…..Hermione, they're probably dead!" Finally, it seemed, he had reached his melting point. "Murdered, more than likely! After Snake-Face took Hogwarts from us, he must have expanded. We _know_ he has…. And I know that bitch had it out for my parents." At his obvious referral to Bellatrix LeStrange, his sadness seemed to dissipate, anger taking its place as fast as she blinked. "They're dead; my Grandmother is dead. I actually killed someone! A person! That should bug me more, shouldn't it?! To top it all off, I'm running for my life with some girl I went to school with!"

He stopped and looked at her shocked at what had came out of his mouth. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean it like that…." He reached out and touched her arm.

She had watched him the entire time and now glanced down at the hand touching her as though it barely registered. Looking back up, her eyes had a slight hard quality to them. "You're not the only one who's lost everything, you know. Family, friends, a home… I've been on the run like this for months now. _Months_, Neville." She kept on with their dinner. "At this point my parents _are_ pretty much dead to me. I'll never hear or see from them again. I watched the love of my life literally _explode_ in front of my eyes. I've done... _bad_ things... _had _to in order to survive. So I get that you're scared, and angry, and tired, and all you have is some bookish nobody to help you keep going; but could you please try to keep your voice down? We don't need everyone knowing where we are." Her tone of voice was forceful, but there was a hint of hurt in there.

He removed his hand, nodded, muttered an apology, and went back to rummaging through the bag of food she had stolen for them, body language sullen and contrite. "Thanks for saving my life. You just acted, you know. One second I thought I was gonna die for sure; I had no where to run when the retreat was called. Then the next, a cloak was over my head and you were there beside me, telling me to run." He sat back down beside her, having grabbed bowls and spoons for them. "I really do appreciate it. I'd be dead without you. I'm sorry Hermione; I didn't mean to let my anger get the best of me."

The girl in question had her face hidden mostly by her mass of frizzy curls. Her head was shaking back and forth slightly, hair swinging. Pouring the finished stew into their bowls, she looked up at him as she passed him his bowl. "Never can stay angry though, can you Neville?" She smiled at him. It was somber and tired, but still a happy smile. "Too much good in you. One of your best qualities I'd say. You're always polite, and caring, and thinking of others. I'm glad I saved you, too." She touched his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. "Now, let's eat this before it gets cold."

Hours later Hermione had gone to sleep and Neville had taken first watch. The two companions had gotten used to the odd sleeping arrangement. But the few hours alone, even with her sleeping right there, unnerved him. He wasn't scared of the dark anymore, hadn't been in years; but the eerie sounds of the tree they occupied, the creaking, the hardly audible sound of scurrying creatures in the underbrush was enough to have him on edge. He'd seen too much. Heard too much. Hell, he _knew_ way more than he felt was good for him.

The sword of Gryffindor lay across his lap and he had a wand in each pocket. He looked ready. Sure as hell didn't _feel_ ready. It seemed courage only came to him in his time of need. He was hardly a little boy anymore but he still didn't like being alone, especially with the way his thoughts kept circling his parents' bodies on the cold hospital floor; up in flames, just like Hogwarts. His mind supplied the very real Harry dead on the ground; all those bodies dead or dying; Luna…. Each time his mind strayed to her he shook his head in order to clear it, refusing to dwell on thoughts of her. Not knowing what had happened to her was worse than knowing right now.

The single candle flickering in their tree house was the only light he had to see by. His eyes looked over the sleeping Hermione. _Some girl...Ha!_ He shook his head again. That girl was currently everything to him: smart, resourceful, wicked with a wand. She was _anything_ but some girl. The flickering light the candle's flame seemed to caress Hermione's face. Her smooth cheeks were dirty from weeks without a proper bath. She had a small nose, a light dusting of freckles, kissable lips….. Neville's eyes shot wide and he instantly looked away from her, at anything else _but her._ Cabin fever, definitely. He had been alone with just her for too long.

He began looking through one of the books Hermione had brought with them. Might as well brush up on some offensive spells. He didn't want what happened at the cave to happen again. As good as the fortune was they'd had since then, the image of that man's head just simply popping off…. It made him shiver, it was so surreal to him. He was startled out of his musings when Hermione let out a tiny yelp of pain.

She bolted upright in her bedroll, blankets around her waist, her hand reaching for a chain tucked inside her shirt, and then she held it in front of her face. Dangling from the chain was her old DA coin. She had kept it as a memento of that time: their rebellion. Easier times, she could say. The usually normal-looking Galleon had writing on it as it had when she used to send out their meeting times. Someone who had _another_ of these coins, who knew what they were for and was smart enough, had reversed the charm or altered it somehow and now there was a message waiting on it for her instead.

'_We're with the Faeries, come find us on Island Island'_

Hermione read the message a second and then a third time. All the while Neville looked at her questioningly. The smile on her face grew each time she read it.

"Isn't that one of the old DA Galleons?" He finally asked, letting her have her moment.

"Sentimental; I would have kept it, but I lost mine…" He eyed her, waiting for an answer, for anything. She just kept staring at the coin she held by its chain before her face.

"Yes, yes it is. We just got a message, too." She passed him the coin, letting him see for himself.

"Island Island?" He looked at her, confused. "I've never heard of such a place. Have you been there? Who is this from, anyway? Could this be a trap?" Millions of other questions filled his head, but those seemed like the important ones.

Smile still in place she explained, "There are probably many out there who could figure out how to reverse the Galleon and send us messages; it wasn't complicated to make." She said it in an offhand way; that bit of magic was nothing compared to what she could do now. "But the mention of the Faeries and Island Island - that is from a favorite book of mine: a Muggle book, not something your garden variety bad guy has read. Also, there is only one person who could know about it enough to use it for messages. I lent the book to her last year."

The smile on her face seemed permanent. She was watching him inspect the coin.

"Who is it from then? Island Island…" He chuckled to himself and handed the necklace back.

"It's from Luna. Thank you god." She muttered the last part.

He could see why she was smiling so much right now. It wasn't just anyone - no, a _friend_ was out there. The grin had spread to his face too. His head spinning, all he could think for a moment was _She's alive! She's alive! _But the burning question was beating its way forward to the forefront of his mind. "But where is this place? You said it was from a book; does it even exist?"

She was nodding as she poked her wand at the coin. It was the first magic either of them had used since they found the tree house, and Snatchers would have their scent and be on their way within the next few hours.

"Island Island is a very real place. It was very clever of Luna to use that as a message….. I'll have to compliment her for that…" She trailed off and centered herself in her thoughts. When Neville poked her in the arm she focused her brown eyes on him again. "Sorry, got a bit carried away with planning. As I was saying, it's a very real place and after you get some rest we'll be on our way from this cosy little piece of spider-ridden hell."

"But, _where is it_?" He asked again, and once again she gave him a happy smile. This time it seemed like she was teasing him.

"Ireland."


	3. Honor

Dozens of cauldrons covered most of the sturdy wooden tables in the spacious laboratory. The scent of the mixtures underway was heady and pungent; it hung around the room like a cloud. Black iron, steel, silver, crystal, even gold: nearly every type and size of cauldron that was sold was represented. Two of them were of a rare type of platinum so difficult to acquire the Malfoy Family did not even own _one._ Both currently sat unused. Bubble charms encased a few of the larger black ones, keeping steam and scent contained that was either too dangerous or noxious to be left brewing openly. Many of the silver ones had contents that simmered or boiled, an almost melodic noise coming from them. Others were empty. Above, hundreds of plants of every variety imaginable hung drying from the rafters of a vaulted ceiling. The smell was pleasant, muted - not the harsh sting to the senses most of these plants usually gave off. The slight shimmer of a charm could be seen between the drying ingredients and the rest of the large open space.

Natural light streamed in from a window situated at the top of the wall, dust floating lazily in the midday rays of late autumn. The window ran from one end to the other. Its clear, new panes of glass filled the room with sunlight, giving the feel and warmth of a friendly kitchen: Comfortable, homey, relaxed. It was too far up to look out of, almost a skylight. The rest of the chamber was lit with soft candlelight and the flickering flames below the busy cauldrons. Even the shadows felt welcoming. One wall was filled entirely with books, and rare tomes were scattered amongst the unique and the general. Every school of thought on brewing was represented, as well as multiple areas of magic: Light, Dark, Black. Many of them were handwritten and priceless. It was a collection to be proud of.

The other three walls were lined with shelves that stretched ceiling to floor. The shelves themselves were of various sizes. In turn, those shelves were filled with bottles, vials, decanters. Most of them had contents, stopper and wax seal, but some were empty and waiting for use. They were filled with liquids of every imaginable color; a few even had a soft glow to them. Others contained the most gruesome things staring back at the casual observer. There were organs and other assumed body parts, animal, human and otherwise. Potion ingredients were hardly the most aesthetically pleasing things. But this room, this lab, was beautiful; perfect in nearly every way and the dream of most Masters.

A matching pair of expensive-looking crystal vials stood out sharply against the rest of the decor, placed on opposing ends of the room as if to give a full view of it. Floating in each, suspended in a translucent liquid, was a human eyeball. The pale green irises looked around lazily almost as if in boredom.

From behind a wooden door at the far end of the lad a light flickered and went out, and Severus Snape stepped from his storeroom into the lab proper. The expression on his face was calm, open, and possibly even content; not at all what one would expect Severus Snape to be. Without bothering to close the door behind him the intimidating man walked towards his work space, and the door shut itself with a tiny 'click' of the latch moving into place. As he walked he checked on a cauldron's progress here and there. Continuing forwards, the black robes he was in draped fluidly behind him, moving gently as if in a slight breeze. The way he had stalked the corridors of the school had become second nature, and his status as a Death Eater made the predatory movements even more necessary to everyday life. Still, his movements hardly matched the look on his face.

He came to stand in front of a desk completely covered in papery chaos. Not a bit of wood was to be seen under the parchment of varying lengths strewn over the desk and the books piled to one side. Some of these lay open, and pages of notes sat on top. Multiple inkwells of different colored inks mottled the landscape of the tabletop. A lovely black feathered quill lay discarded, waiting for use. Setting down the two small paper boxes on the desk he pulled the seat out, and the squeak of a chair sliding across smooth dark flagstone broke the silence of the room.

The small grunt of a man sitting down followed. Spider-like fingers deftly untied the twine that closed the small boxes, revealing in one a hair comb any pureblood heiress would be proud of, and in the other a length of silver chain with no visible beginning or ending. He set the two objects gently to the side and, with an idle flick of his wand, vanished the paper boxes. His mind had already turned to the notes before him. Taking up the elegant quill, harsh spiky writing began filling page after page as he sank father, immersed in his thoughts.

Hours later there was a soft knock at the closed door of his laboratory, and at his bidding it was opened by a house elf. It stood just inside the doorway after bowing respectfully to Snape, who was still seated and had not turned to face the house elf at all. The way the clean pillow case was tied denoted it was male. He looked healthy, well taken care of, and in the prime of his life, and his demeanor gave off a willingness to serve.

"Sir," the elf straightened himself fully, arms at his sides. "Lucius Malfoy is being in the entryways. Pummel sees him to sittings room? Or Master's study?"

With the question came a small tilt of the head and a tiny flick of a floppy, pointed ear. It was the body language of one accustomed to asking such things. Snape had stopped his work - quill hovering steadily over the parchment - at the mention of who had come to call. He turned around in his seat, but did not get up. The elf didn't shift nervously under the unwavering gaze of the dark man, which spoke volumes about the treatment of the elves in his household. They were servants, yes - slaves by name in these dark times - but there seemed to be a mutual kindness and respect between them and their master.

Nodding his head once in acknowledgement he spoke, his voice gravelly as if unused for a few hours. "Show him into the sitting room. Inform him I'll be with him shortly. Have Zilly bring him tea and a bottle of the '33 brandy from the cellar."

The house elf dipped in another bow, and with a snap of his tiny fingers disappeared in a puff of smoke. The commands given and followed, Snape shifted around in his seat once more, quill still poised, and he finished the paragraph he was working on.

Setting down the quill and shuffling a few parchments around to hide the comb and the chain from immediate sight, he slid the chair back and stood. A slight twitch of his left hand,and the pair of green eyes flicked to him and then returned to their previous scan of the room. This time, however, they appeared to be more mindful of their surroundings. Turning from the cluttered desk he stalked from the room, pulling the door physically shut behind him. His deportment and the expression on his face had shifted into something much more expected of Severus Snape - a slight scowl, hard unfeeling eyes, and much more imposing stance. His face became a closed book, yet more open than it would have been had anyone else come to his home. Lucius Malfoy was many things to him, but completely trusted was not one of them.

The corridor was well lit and nicely decorated. Thick black candles burned in the chandeliers overhead. A few paintings of land and seascapes hung every few feet on the stone walls, and a plant with vibrant red leaves sat on a side table, curling towards the light from a leaded glass window at the end of the hall. There were three other doors than the one he had just exited in this corridor, two on each side and all of them closed. At the opposing end of the hall from the window was an open stone archway that led into another hallway. This one had large windows along one wall instead of just the one. Thick curtains had been drawn aside to admit daylight and reveal the breathtaking landscaping of the expansive grounds. All in all the dwelling was quite the opposite one might expect the abrasive and dour man to live in. Four doors were in this hallway as well, all facing the large windows. Three of these were closed, but one had been opened in anticipation of his arrival.

The interior of the sitting room was not expensive; at least not overtly. It was tastefully decorated with artifacts, statuettes, and antiques from all over the world - plenty of them obviously dark objects the former Ministry administration would have held a field day over. There were ancient looking vases and a smattering of knick knacks. Despite its subtle luxury the room had a personal atmosphere, as though everything had been personally chosen by Snape himself and then arranged to his liking Everything in his home was there because he wanted it to be. In the center were two large wingback arm chairs and a matching loveseat, a table with a tea service in the middle between them. A soft-looking carpet spread over the stone floor, and the damask fabric of the furniture was a deep rich green, which only complemented the dark wood panelling of the room.

The dignified man who was lounging on the loveseat - as though he had thrown himself at the piece of furniture - seemed to agree. His blond hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a charcoal grey ribbon, topping off the wizard's exquisite looking clothing. He wore a joking smile on his aristocratic face and his sharp blue eyes quickly noted the stature and mood of his host as Snape entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Such a lovely home Severus; I think it suits just fine, but Narcissa insists it requires a woman's touch."

The house Severus now lived in he had designed and built himself, both by hand and magic. It was a source of pride for him. This home had no horrible memories attached, unlike Spinners End, which he had happily burnt to the ground. Now _that_ was a night to remember fondly. The expansive plot of land Severus had built upon was given to him by his Lord the day he woke up, among many other _honors_. He could barely even think the word these days without the voice in his mind sneering at him.

"Lucius, how kind of you to stop by," he replied dryly. Dropping himself into one of the chairs, he served himself from the tray on the table between them. He downed half the tea cup in one gulp. But yet there was no tension between them. "If I had known you were coming, I would have told the elves not to bother answering the door."

"Just as you told them not to answer any Floo calls either, I suppose?" A regally raised eyebrow and smirk accompanied the question. Lucius' tea sat nearly finished in front of him. "I can't help but feel as though you're avoiding me, Severus." He had sat up a little straighter and his voice had taken on a nasally quality, mirth shining in his eyes. He was obviously mocking someone.

Severus gave the man before him an amused smile as he set his tea down. Leave it to Lucius to make him feel at ease. Lucius Malfoy had, first and foremost, been his friend. Not that Slytherins or Death Eaters really had _friends_. But they had been close for years, starting back in their school days. Lucius was four years older than he was, but the friendship had developed quickly. "That would be one of the many reasons you had to seek me out yourself. Is Narcissa still insistent that I go on this utterly ridiculous -what is it- _double date_?" He spit the word like it was poison. Leaning back in his chair he shook his head gently, his black hair swaying slightly. "I have no desire to meet this woman, nor listen to her prattle on about whatever it is women talk about. Why does she feel the need to play matchmaker for me?" His eyes narrowed at his companion as though it was possibly his fault.

"It could be she wants to see her friend happy; to have a woman who loves him." The blond man sat forwards a little.

"I do hope those are her words verbatim Lucius. I've never known you to be so sappy." Severus' lip had upturned in disgust. "Pummel." The house elf from earlier appeared in a blink, bowing to the two wizards with eyes respectfully down turned. "I believe I'll need that brandy now, if this little visit is going to consist of us gossiping like old biddies." He waved his hand in dismissal at the elf, who popped away soon after.

"She's been after it so much I'm nearly inclined to start agreeing with her, if only to shut the damn woman up." He crossed one leg over another as two full snifters appeared, replacing the teacups. The teapot itself was replaced with the bottle Severus had previously specified, and Lucius eyed it after taking a sip from his glass.

"Which, I can only assume, is what sent you here." The darker man swirled his glass beneath his nose, taking in the scent. "I hope she doesn't think I'll agree to it. I'm not going," he murmured into his glass almost childishly. The two of them saw each other often enough, with Lucius being their Lord's Right hand and Severus his Left. "Why is it you always come here when you're running from your wife?"

"Currently it's because you have excellent brandy." Smirk, sip. "But no, I'm here for the company. You are the only person even remotely interesting to speak to anymore. Everyone else has gorged themselves on victory. It's becoming tedious." Changing the topic he added, "I hear you've been taking over Master Jigger's clients. It's an impressive list of patrons; be sure I've seen it. That must be keeping you busy." The grin of ego crept across his face. "Especially now, since some of those absurd laws on what you can or cannot brew have been abolished." They had both had a hand in that. After all, with a new regime came new rules, and there had been ample time for them to be enforced.

The answering expression was not quite as large as Lucius' but a smile nonetheless."Yes, yes, very busy with that and my own research. Enough to have you showing up on my doorstep when I don't answer the Floo."

"Six times."

"Why on earth did you try six times?" He sounded exasperated. "You're like a teenager with an obsession, Lucius. This is the second time this week you've just shown up. Surely she can't be that bad?" He almost regretted the question.

Lucius made a sound, which on any other man would have been a snort. "One day, my friend. One day you will eat those words when you have a wife at home nagging you about every little, damn thing! First it's your friend's love life and then it descends into a hell of clothing and jewelry I never want to go back to." He threw himself back into the loveseat. "This is becoming the only place I can escape her. She's even at _meetings,_ Severus!" He downed the rest of his glass and it refilled instantly from the open bottle on the table.

The usually caustic man was amused. Lucius was not a man to rant often, and about his wife even less. But he had been the ear Lucius had come to for years and knew these things. "I do go to these gatherings, too, if you hadn't noticed. She sits four seats down on my side of the table." Their conversations often had a comfortable teasing aspect, both enjoying the other's company enough so that the Malfoy House often referred to Severus as family. After all, he had been named godfather to their only child and heir.

"I sincerely enjoy that she's more involved; I really do." He finished off his second glass of the expensive alcohol. "But ever since she and Bella started recruiting witches for that little pet project our Lord gave them-" He left out a puff of air. "Cissa has become unbearable! Even Draco spends most of his time away from home."

Severus could barely contain the urge to roll his eyes and latched on to the new topic with alacrity. "How is Draco? I haven't seen him since the ceremony the Dark Lord gave to honor"- there was that inward disdain again- "my accomplishments and publically bestow my title back in June. I receive a letter here and there, but my godson didn't decide to attend that godawful housewarming party you insisted I have. That was almost two months ago." He shifted in the chair, getting more comfortable both in position and with the conversation.

"Running around with his friends somewhere near Ipswich." Lucius flapped his hand dismissively. "Though his mother wishes he would finish his Seventh Year, transfer to Durmstrang. Not that he needs it really. He's happy enough where he is, cataloguing and packing up a library of all things. Though, from the small excerpt of the archive list he's sent me, it's a wonder these books weren't burned or seized. Draco is overly excited." Lucius sighed, his thumb rubbed the side of the snifter ever so gently. "He's always had such a thirst for knowledge, I wonder sometimes what things would have been like for him had he been sorted to Ravenclaw."

Severus slowly raised an eyebrow as he watched his friend slip slowly into his thoughts. "I've been sitting here for the last twenty minutes listening to you and watching you drink my brandy. The least you could do is not get drunk so quickly. To humor you, I don't believe things would have differed that much. The end result would have been the same, no matter the journey." The tone was teasing. Sipping from his own glass he continued to watch the man across from him. "You were telling me about Draco," he reminded Lucius with a smirk.

"Ah! Yes! One of the reasons I came, actually." He sat forward in his seat, broken from his musing. "As you know, there are to be promotions given at the next meeting. I've decided Theodore Nott Jr. has proven himself worthy, and have advised our Lord on his progression. He decided young Theo will become a fully fledged Death Eater next week, on Halloween night, the second of the new generation to receive the Mark. The rest if their year are still either Trainees or Grunts."

Severus nodded at the revelation, as if expecting it. He knew of the rise in rank his erstwhile student was making. The two men were at the top of the food chain and it was their duty to know all the ins and outs of their Lord's vast army. "His father must be incredibly proud." But inside, it felt like his organs had frozen solid. _New Generation_. _There will be more, so many more._ Outwardly he finished his brandy, his face showing the pride a large part of him felt. Someone he had helped shape and teach was being recognized for good work. It was a pleasant feeling, knowing you had contributed to the molding of the world.

The afternoon turned into evening. He listened to Lucius continue on, and the two of them drank and laughed together. They spoke of years past, reminiscing about school and their young adulthood. Lucius had stayed for dinner after receiving word his wife had made plans with friends of hers. Severus had given his house elves orders to see to his brewing. They had moved on from brandy, to the other varieties of alcohol in his cellar. The entertaining conversation continued well into the night and ended with the Patriarch of the Malfoy House stumbling through Severus' fireplace at two o'clock in the morning utterly plastered and with a song on his lips. After the emerald green flames had died away and Severus was alone again, thoughts beginning to swirl like the gin in his glass. His good mood was slowly eaten away by a frozen feeling in his gut, and he was sure it wasn't the copious amounts of booze he had ingested. No, this was the feeling from before.

Ambling slowly from his sitting room he walked down the hallways, eyes touching the art on the walls and miscellaneous decor he had chosen and placed. The house was his; it was something good in his dreary life, something no one but he had control over. It had been built and furnished with no one but him in mind, and it hardly mattered anymore it had been accomplished with ill gotten gains. Only the smallest sliver of hesitation held him back from fully enjoying his new existence. His life had completely spun on itself when he had awakened in that large and lavish bed. The familiar Slytherin colors had been every place his eyes looked as the realization of what had transpired had dawned on him in those first precious seconds. It was all wrong...

He made his way through a door that opened shortly before he reached it, which lead into another room with a fireplace already roaring with life. The elves must have anticipated him staying up longer, despite the fact that a nearby ornate wrought-iron clock read two thirty-five in the morning. The only seating was a comfortable-looking black suede couch placed adjacent to the mantel. Sitting down heavily he emptied the glass he held in one go. The bottle of gin he had carried with him was put down on a low table, its diminished contents sloshing around at the abrupt movement. His mind floundered, drowning in the mire of guilt brought up by the inevitable. He had attained everything he had ever wanted, but at the price of hundreds of corpses. Dreams he'd had as a boy, hiding in an attic reading his mother's tatty old potions textbooks, had been actualized. He was _living_ them.

He had a lucrative potions and elixir commission; an extensive list of clients, all of them grossly wealthy and clambering over each other with gifts and praise to garner his attention and hire his skills; a large garden and personal greenhouse, planted with every ingredient imaginable; a laboratory that was every potioneer's wet dream; the magnificent home he had built, all his own, deep in the english countryside with no neighbours around for miles; a staff of five house elves, all of whom were more than happy to serve him. Now that he wasn't tied down to his position as Potions Master at Hogwarts and then Headmaster, he had ample time to accomplish his own brewing. He was able to sit and research for hours, large nose pressed into books. He could perform practical trials and experiments, thoughts he hadn't been able to devote his attention to in years reforming and evolving.

Everything he had desired was his: solitude, the respect of his peers, high social standing; there were even a few people he could sometimes concede were his friends, and someone whom he could even call his best mate. Yet what Lucius had mentioned earlier had eventually gotten to him. He had it all, but no one to share it with; no wife, no girlfriend. The last time he'd had sex was shortly after he woke up from his coma and even then that had occurred in a night of drunken debauchery and he couldn't even remember her name, let alone what she looked like.

Sneering into the merrily crackling fire, he felt disgusted with himself. The thoughts circling in his head decried him, screaming his worthlessness. He shook his head, hair greasy from days of unwashed work in the lab and the night of drinking with Lucius. Many of the things he had, he'd worked hard for, broken his back for his success. Blood, sweat, tears. Sure, the way he had arrived at this destination was deplorable and he was hardly able to live with himself, but… There was always a but. For the most part Severus Snape could say he was happy, and it was that feeling alone that angered him more than anything else.

**Flashback, June 1998 - Four Months Earlier**

_It had been almost a month since the battle of Hogwarts, the event that changed everything. Still Severus Snape lay comatose in a bed. His vitals were normal, his breathing regular, the bites on his neck and face all but healed over. Barely any bruising was left on his healthy complexion. One could hardly tell he had been moments from death when he was brought here. If his overall appearance had to be described, he looked better than he had in years. Charms shimmered in and out of view over his bed, monitoring any change in condition. It was silent even though the single window in the room was open and sunlight filtered in onto hardwood flooring. His room was hidden deep within the bowels and ever changing corridors of the Dark Lord's brand new compound. It was a magnificent display of magic and wizarding architecture: large and imposing, its high walls of dark, nearly black stone looked completely impenetrable. It stood in the ashes of the shack the Gaunt family had once called home, and the small village of Little Hangleton had been decimated to make room for the impressive castle. The Muggle inhabitants had been corralled and collected like livestock, then locked away in a labyrinthine dungeon beneath miles of earth and stone for later 'entertainment'. _

_Death Eaters of all ranks, from Trainees to the Elites, were a constant presence. This place was the center, the hub of Lord Voldemort's reign and as such it was bustling. Information was given and received, plans were drawn up and executed with ease. The Order of the Phoenix had been defeated; the British Ministry of Magic sat in the palm of his hand. Any hint of resistance had been quickly and harshly put down. Muggle Britain was quietly following suit. He had not so much revealed magic to them as he had placed the entire royal family, the house of Lords, and parliament under a tightly gripped Imperius curse. Their media was his to control, his to use, to shape the collective psyche. Using it to his advantage, he was quickly gaining his dominance over the repulsive populace, which remained ignorant to what was truly going on due to its unquestioning complacency toward the governmental and legislation changes. _

_Of course, things went a lot smoother when large vats of potions began to be regularly added to their diets. Through the food it consumed and the water it drank Muggle England was being controlled. With the imaginations of his highest ranking and his most trusted, Lord Voldemort had closed his hand around the heart of Britain with an iron fist in a matter of months. For now, he was content with that. Due to all the prior planning and the swift action not a single country outside his new domain had even a smidgen of an idea. Trade ran smoothly, every shipment contaminated with the undetectable potion - Iadi Ithe - his _genius _of a Potions Master had developed. There was no worry of the other Wizarding Ministries around the world catching on, though the Death Eaters were still vigilant in their assignment to keep it that way. Tourists came and went daily, taking back with them to every country the effects of the potion they had ingested their entire stay. England, Wales, Ireland. His. All of it. _Mine_._

_The Dark Lord casually walked the twisting corridors with no particular destination in mind. Death Eaters from every rung of the hierarchy stopped their tasks to bow as he passed and then quickly returned to their work after they were out of his view. He silently pondered how long he should wait before spreading his influence over the rest of Europe as the potion continued its slow work of tainting the world. This was only the beginning. Lord Voldemort had always planned big._

_The potion quickly became stuck in his mind, and he made the decision to go check on its creator, his house guest. Severus was currently the only Death Eater staying within the castle. Since their overwhelming victory his army was free to go home to their families, no longer on the run from the Aurors. Now, it was quite the other way around. The smirk that stretched over his almost translucent skin was terrifying. He could almost taste the sudden unease of his followers. _

_Making his way deeper into the foreboding castle, the Death Eaters he passed became fewer and farther between until he reached the corridor that housed the guest chambers as well as his own personal ones. This corridor was empty, as it should be. The wards were set up in such a way that only a very select few could make it this far in without either setting off multiple alarms or becoming the recipient of an instantaneous but painful death. Stopping at a door no different from any other in the hallway he twitched a finger and it opened slowly. A large ornate wood bed dominated the room and on it Severus lay still and unmoving as he had for weeks. A comfortable chair was sitting to the side of the bed indicating he sat here often. Settling himself in it, black robes coiling around him like smoke, his eyes (which could be described as demonic) coming to rest on the face of the man laying before him._

_What a hasty judgement he had made. It was a rare occasion he admitted he was wrong. Ending Severus had been a mistake made in the heat of battle. Potter had been the true master of the Elder wand and now it was his. The wand was currently hidden within the folds on his robes, close by as always. He could feel the thrum of her magic against his skin. He very nearly regretted sending his Beloved to deliver Snape to his end. He could make excuses to himself about why he had even used Nagini to kill him, but in the end it was that method of death that had saved his life. There was no living survivor of the killing curse; he had made sure of that. The maniacal grin on his face was enough to send anyone running away screaming. What a wonderful day that had been... _

_When he had sent the elder Malfoy to retrieve Snape's' body from the boathouse it was with the intention of giving the man a proper burial befitting his status. Lord Voldemort was going to honor him in death, the man who delivered the death of Albus Dumbledore; who had given years of loyal service through his sacrifice of spying as a double agent; who had developed for him the means to utterly control the Muggle population. Severus Snape was going to be remembered as long as he ruled._

_Then late into the morning of the next day Lucius had returned, holding in his arms the limp body of Severus Snape. The man's face and neck were smeared with blood, his robes torn open at the top to reveal the extensive damage the snake had done. Mud, accumulated from his sojourn on the floor of the boathouse, had dried and was crackling off in small pieces, floating gently to the floor. Passing through the huge throng of Death Eaters Lucius made his way towards his Lord, the black cloaks parting for him as he passed by. The air almost felt like it stood still, and all chatter had immediately stopped. Severus' body looked broken and defeated. His face was ashen and being carried made him seem somehow smaller than he actually was, but he was alive. _

_The best Healers were immediately sent for as Snape was moved into a bedroom in the Lord's personal wing. It wasn't long after the Healers arrived that Voldemort found out the only reason Snape was alive was because he had tried to save himself. He was furious. By his convoluted logic what he killed, or had killed, should stay dead. It was his will, and any of his Death Eaters should be proud to give his life for his Lord and the cause. _

_He had borne down ruthlessly on Lucius, demanding to know the state Snape had been found in, where he had found him, and what potions bottles had been near his body. The blond patriarch disclosed evidence Snape had not administered the potions to himself. This had given Voldemort almost a sense of relief, yet there was the tiniest bit of suspicion still lingering in his thoughts. Though it still appeared he - or someone else - had attempted to save himself, or at least delay his death, the fact that Severus had not moved from the boathouse gave him a surge of...not _happiness_, but a twisted type of pride. He would hear the story from Severus when he awoke, but ultimately he trusted the word of his Right Hand._

_Deep within his thoughts, the Dark Lord didn't notice the twitching fingers of the bed's occupant but he did hear the charm give off an alarm. The only Healer he had allowed in burst through the door, clearly not knowing his Lord was in the room. Stuttering an apology after falling to his knees - but with the sense of a man quite serious about his patient's care - he stood quickly and began spouting multiple colors from his wand tip. Voldemort remained seated, watching the Healer work. Soon finished, he stood off to the side and addressed his Lord._

"_My Lord, he's about to wake. I cannot say how firm his mental grip will be at first. An almost fatal dose of venom and then a three week long coma could have detrimental repercussions on his stability." The Healer had been here for nearly a month and though nervous, he had become accustomed to the near constant presence of Lord Voldemort. He glanced to his left at the dark-haired man still lying in the bed. As if the words sparked the action, Severus opened dark brown, nearly black eyes for the first time in close to three weeks. Thanks to the myriad of spells the Healer had performed, his musculature had not decreased nor wasted away. He looked completely healthy, as if they had only been waiting for him to wake up._

_The Healer made to move back to the bed, but was stopped in his tracks at the glare sent his way. Severus' eyes made their way around the room, taking in ancient-looking furniture, a single window, a Healer- "My Lord," he croaked, finally catching sight of the blood-eyed wizard. _

"_Severus, I am delighted to see you awaken." His merciless gaze raked over him, and then settled on the eyes of his Potions Master. "I was beginning to think I might have to go in and find you myself." His voice was pleasant, unlike the act he was suggesting with such flippancy. "Speaking of that, I think I shall just plunge right in and see for myself what transpired." _

_It was as though he had simply asked for sugar in his tea. A polite smile, one used by the most kindly of people. The calm atmosphere of the room shifted in mere moments as the Healer spluttered fearfully about 'breaking his mind!'. The crushing weight of malevolent power encompassed the room as invisible pressure flattened Snape to the bed and pressed the Healer's back against the wall. _

_It was the only warning Severus had before Voldemort crashed his way into Snape's newly conscious mind, giving the man fractions of a second to throw up the first believable thing he could think of. If he were a praying man, he would have prayed._

_Visions of him laying on the dirty floor of the boathouse played out in his mind, and images of thick brown mud mixing with his free-flowing blood swam into his view. He almost lost concentration in the agonizing pain of Voldemort's sudden intrusion. _

Breath slowing, every gasp of air was a sharp spike to his lungs. The fight to live was slowly being dragged out of him with each pump his heart made. His eyes were losing focus of the dark boathouse, and the sound of the water ebbing and flowing around him was fading out, as though someone was turning down the volume. But the pain, the searing, unbearable pain still coursed freely through him. He could feel his blood boiling inside him. He remembered thinking that drowning was a happier way to die. Then there was a mass of brown hair, and incessant chattering that was annoying him even now. Cold glass was pressed to his lips, spells made him swallow, and then there was nothing. Pain receded like everything else. All around him faded to black; the last distinctive thing he remembered was, "Come on Hermione, leave the bastard to die; doesn't deserve your pity."

_After the violent assessment of loyalty - which left Severus clutching his head in pain - the Dark Lord had smiled cruelly, still appearing pleased. He bestowed upon him gifts far beyond what he had imagined the very first time that promise was ever made to him - on the day Severus had knelt at this man's feet and accepted the scorching heat, the unbelievable agony, as he received the Dark Mark so many years ago. He was to be publically venerated at a ceremony in a few days and receive land, wealth, and title. Severus was to continue to serve his Lord as his Left Hand, making him equal to Lucius Malfoy -the Right- in rank, with no other above him but the Dark Lord. They were the most trusted, the most loyal. Their opinions held definitive weight to Voldemort. Their orders were to be followed as if their Lord gave them himself. It was an incredible feeling. This was what he had been working for._

_As the Dark Lord and the Healer had left him to rest, recover and gather his thoughts Severus couldn't help but feel like _finally _everything was going right. Fate had decided to stop playing with his strings. Life could not possibly get better than in this moment. He lay back on the soft mattress, a heavy blanket covering his body, his headache was receding, and a content sort of smile was tugging at his thin lips. His mind was at ease for what felt like the first time since childhood. He had succeeded in keeping his eternal cover. Nothing could break him from the joy he allowed himself to feel in his achievement._

**End Flashback**

Severus sat hunched over on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he stared into the dancing flames of the fireplace. A nearly empty glass held between both hands. Finally able to live, and enjoy his life. But - as there is always something - a miniscule, fleeting thought flashed through his psyche: _at what cost? _Then it was gone, stamped down upon with colossal force.

A/N: Hey my lovelies! Sorry it took so long, I've been trying to post this for 3 days now. I hope things aren't confusing, any questions or comments? I'd LOVE to hear them! Read and review! You might get a brownie :D


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